With a Whisper
by Linwe Elendil
Summary: Not all heroes get a glorious send off, and not all love stories end happily. Set after Harry is dropped off at his relative's home. Professor McGonagall can't help but remember a certain brilliant, red-headed former student. A bit of DM, but in canon.


Disclaimer: I still don't own the rights to Harry Potter. I still wish I did. End of story.

Sorry I haven't posted anything lately, but I'm hard at work on three different novels. Hopefully one of them will be finished and off to the publishers soon. :-) I saw the midnight showing of _The Half Blood Prince_ last night, and that (in part) inspired me to write this.

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Minerva McGonagall sat in her office at Hogwarts, staring unseeing at the desk. She imagined a beautiful red headed girl who had a slight bounce in her step as she walked up to the Professor.

"_And what can I do for you today, Miss Evans?" she asked with a smile. "Another new charm you wanted to show me?"_

"_As a matter of fact," said the girl as she came to a stop in front of the desk. "There's something I wanted to give you."_

"_Give me?" asked McGonagall. "Now why would you –"_

_The girl drew her wand and held her hands behind her back. "Because it's the last night of my last term here at Hogwarts, and I wanted to thank you for everything you taught me." Minerva felt herself flush. "And because you've been wonderful as the head of Gryffindor house." She leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "Also, thanks for not giving James, Sirius, and Remus detention when you caught them in the kitchens the other night."_

_Professor McGonagall closed her eyes, shaking her head. "As it was so near the end of term, I was rather looking forward to having that trio out of my office for the foreseeable future." _

_Lily smiled. "They have been here a lot, haven't they?"_

"_More times than I care to remember, I'm afraid."_

_The girl nodded, getting back to business. "I really did want to thank you for everything you've done, so…" She whispered an incantation, and pulled from behind her back a beautiful lily – but it was in a birdcage. She placed it on the desk. _

"_I don't understand," the Professor said. _

"_Watch," Lily replied. And with a burst of light, the flower became a dove that flew serenely around before settling on its perch._

"_Oh, my goodness," McGonagall said. "It's beautiful." She looked at the girl. "And what an extraordinary bit of magic, too, I must say, Miss Evans." Lily smiled broadly. "Thank you very much." The professor felt her eyes beginning to mist over at the sentiment of the gift, but she cleared her throat loudly. "Now, shouldn't you be making your way down to the feast? I imagine Mr. Potter must be wondering where you are."_

_Lily blushed again. "You're right, of course. I'll go straight away." She turned to go and made it three steps before looking back at her teacher. "Thank you. For everything." Smiling once again, she headed out the door._

Minerva blinked away the memory, finding herself still in her quiet, dark office. It was somehow too quiet, and without thinking, she glanced to the left. There, on the corner of her desk, the birdcage stood empty. The dove was gone. Tears stung her eyes as a lump settled itself firmly in her throat.

"And so the kind, generous soul passes. Not with fanfare, but with a whisper." She looked up to see Albus Dumbledore standing in her doorway.

"I didn't see you there," she said hastily, dropping her head to surreptitiously wipe away the moisture on her cheeks as Dumbledore made his way up to her desk. He looked older now than he had only hours ago – when they had dropped off the Potter boy at his relative's home. The thought of that poor child growing up without his parents made her weep anew, and Albus wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulders.

It had been many years since Dumbledore had made such a gesture. She'd been teaching at Hogwarts for seven years, and he'd found her crying in her office after the train had departed – taking all the students back home for the summer.

_"My dear professor, what is the matter?" He conjured a handkerchief from thin air, and she accepted it gratefully._

"_However do you get used to it?" she asked after discretely blowing her nose. "To watch these children learn and grow – knowing that they have so much more potential than they understand." She waved vaguely to the empty classroom. "And then to see them leave." Her voice broke. "The seventh year students who won't be back – they were first group I taught." She sniffled and looked at Albus, who smiled kindly._

"_I've never had children of my own," he said slowly, "And can't conceive that the future holds such joy for me." Sadness crossed his face, but she wouldn't pry. She thought she understood his emotions on the subject well enough, having remained childless herself. "I see the students as a way of experiencing the pleasures… and disappointments… that come with parenthood." He lowered his chin as he looked her in the eye. "Like all parents, we must learn to let go. And watch them fly."_

_She chuckled. "They certainly do, don't they?" _

"_It is an amazing thing to behold," he murmured, staring off into space. "Perhaps that's why I enjoy a good game of Quidditch so much."_

_As usual, McGonagall couldn't tell if he was being serious or trying to lighten the mood. But she smiled anyway. He could always make her smile, and she realized with an abrupt jolt that she couldn't imagine a world where he didn't exist. His strength and quiet grace were sometimes all that kept her from going stark raving mad in the face of unruly – and occasionally downright vicious in their treatment of each other – students. Dumbledore looked back at her, holding her gaze for a moment, and she took a deep breath. "Albus…"_

_He raised a hand. "Minerva, there is something I really feel I must say to you." Dumbledore closed the distance between them before gently taking her hand. McGonagall looked down at their clasped fingers in shock before finding his eyes again. "You are a truly amazing witch, and a wonderful teacher. I have been and always will be grateful to have you as a friend – a friendship I hope will continue for many more years." She swallowed heavily as he stared at the ground. "But… I'm afraid I can never… care for you in the way that you would wish." Her eyes filled with tears. "I am so sorry, but… I cannot love you."_

_She knew she should ask him why. That she should open her mouth and at least say _something_. But she froze as effectively as if she had been hexed. Dumbledore's face came suddenly back into focus as the moisture that had obscured her vision began to trail down her cheeks. He didn't look at her again._

_"Of course," she whispered, removing her hand gently from his. She fought for composure, digging deeply into the reserves of stoicism she'd gathered over the years. Wiping away errant tears with a swipe of her hand – the one he had so carefully held – she stepped back. "Of course." She said nothing else, but she was certain he could hear her heart break. Nodding sadly, he drifted silently from the room._

And now, as she looked up at him – his arm wrapped securely around her – she had little doubt that the same memory had just run through his mind. She knew what this gesture was costing him, and what it would cost her. But at the moment, in the face of so much grief, she was more grateful than she could say.

The moment gone, Dumbledore stepped back, and with a nod, retreated from the office. But McGonagall was certain that as he left, he could hear her heart breaking again.

Even if it was only a whisper.

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